They Never Suspect the One Snickering Maniacly
by RocketSolarCat
Summary: Willard. I swear it's so much better than the last one I wrote. It's slightly AU. What if Willard met Socrates in school? HUMOR FIC! [I spell-checked it, like I should've anyhow, yay. Go me.]


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[3/31/03] Authoritrix notes: I'm sorry about the typos -.-;; I never noticed them until I got back to my house and spell checked it. Liquid Fire I feel like a fool. O.o;; Thankies for the reviews anyhow. What kind-of smoke was I crackin' when I forgot to spell check it anyhow? 

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[Original] Authoritrix Notes: HOPEFULLY a lot better than my last one, when I was on my brain fart. oO Yeh, sure, at least I'm using my captialization rules. And my brain isn't liquid mush from writing at midnight. And it's in my favorite media. Sort of AU. Willard meets "Socrates" in school.**Disclaimer**: nope. not mine, at all. 

THEY NEVER SUSPECT THE ONE SNICKERING MANIACLY 

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[Alternative title: CLARK? I HATE THAT NAME] 

- by trsolarcat/rocketsolarcat - 

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When I was born, I suspect my mother thought naming me Willard was funny. It's no surprise she thought re-naming me Clark was, but that's another story entirely (perhaps).

School didn't help, sitting in a stuffy classroom with about twenty other snot-nosed children all seeming to stare at you. If you think I'm exaggerating or paranoid you're mistaken--I sat by the tissue box, snot-nosed I say! The entire schoolhouse was full of people like that. It's enough to make one intentionally stick their tongue to a pole in the winter, just so you didn't have to go back inside after recess. 

Then again, going home wasn't much better. As soon as you opened the door, mother would call,"Clark!? Is that you?"

If father were alive he'd think mother was having an affair. ("Who the hell is Clark?")

It's no surprise years from then; I turned when someone yelled 'Clark' or occasionally 'Robert'. 

Anyhow, I hated school. I hated home. So I rather stay away from them both, which wasn't easy. So I found myself volunteering for all sorts of things--library clean up, storage room stocking, and naturally cheerleading (I'm being facetious, of course). One day, I happened to volunteer for cleaning up the science lab. 

Paper all over the room like they threw a confetti party, hamster paper I'll have you know. That's all the people in this school where anyhow, giant hamsters running in those wheels--but these were stupid hamsters the ones that didn't realize they could stop whenever they wanted to take a break. Or if they stopped they got carried to the top of the wheel and dropped on their heads. 

And people call me 'easily amused'. 

Taking a broom and sweeping the floors in a steady pace, I began to laugh, I didn't understand why. Perhaps it was that whole Hamster Wheel Analogy. 

Then I heard something else, over my laughing, a small squeaking noise. That only made me think about the Hamster thing again, until I saw what it was. In a medium sized cage covered in the hamster paper, the paper moved around in the bottom as if something was in there. A pink nose poked out of the shredding, tiny whiskers the nose wiggled around smelling the air. A small white head popped out then, instead of it being a hamster, it was a little white rat. 

"They just buried you in that stuff didn't they?"I opened the top of the rusty cage and gently reached in, the little rat cowered, so I drew back,"I'm not going to hurt you..."

I looked around quickly, glancing at the side of the cage there was a small note card, scanning it, the name on it said 'Clark'. 

I hate that name. 

"You're not a Clark!"I laughed, as the small creature began to sniff the tips of my fingers that were still dangling in the cage,"Your a...."

I watched 'Clark' curl into a ball quickly then uncurl once more, his skinny tail twitching, then he got up on his hind legs and put his front paws on my fingers sniffing the air. As if he was telling me, I could indeed pick him up. 

"You look like a smart little rat--how do you like the name.....Aristotle? Plato?"I asked him, nothing too strange talking to rats, I put him up on my shoulder. His tiny feet grabbed my clothing, holding him in place, I decided I'd sweep the floors with him there. No point in getting nothing done today, just because you found a rather nice vermin in the classroom.

"I got it! Socrates?"

The white ball of fur cleaned its whiskers. 

How come they never pay attention to you, when you have an epiphany? Those only happen ever so often, and they don't understand that do they? What a time to clean your whiskers! It's like picking your nose when someone offers you champagne at the dinner table. If I were trying to lick my elbow, I'd have Socrates full attention, only because it's impossible to accomplish and fun to watch someone try. 

"Socrates, it is."What do I care if you don't like it, it's better than Clark, as most things are (but that's my opinion). Socrates beady red eyes fell on me, I could make them out from the corner of my eye, his whiskers twitched--tickling the side of my face.

Socrates and Willard, partner in crime....or just partners in floor sweeping. Either way, it was nice to have some company, especially a nice friend like Socrates. 

At the end of my long after-school cleaning session, I gently pulled Socrates from my shoulder, holding him gingerly in the palms of my hands. Rubbing him against the side of my face, I told him,"See you tomorrow, my friend."

Smiling as I put him back into the cage, I gave him one more nudge as I pulled my hand out. Socrates dug in the paper shredding until there was a nice rat-sized hole; then he curled into a tight ball, closing his eyes. 

A smile on my face I looked at him for several minutes more, sleeping silently. Then I accidentally looked at that stupid card, damn, why'd I have to do that? Spoil my moment. I shook my head. 

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The next day in class, I wasn't feeling so down by being the one to sit by the tissue box. I'd be even happier if that Kleenex box was up the teacher's--cheap Toyota (particularly the tail-pipe so she'd choke to death on the carbon monoxide build up). Why should I be the only one over in this part of the classroom? It's because my house is Gothic. If it was Victorian or Modern I'd be sitting to the left of everyone--and they all know it. I know what technology is, I know what a refrigerator is, and hell I even have one! House-Profilers! 

"Class, may I have your attention?"Speak of the devil, the Leader of The House Profilers--the teacher to you commoners who don't know Gothic-Residential-Slang, got up and stood in front of the class. Pacing she continued,"Yesterday someone um...misplaced one of our student's lab rats....."

Oh, no that sounds horrible! 

"Clark? Can you tell us what your rat looked like?"

Clark? I hate that name. I put my hand casually up to my face, covering my mouth, trying to keep from snickering. 

A chubby young man with black-hair, stood in his chair, a tissue to his face. His tear-soaked face was pained as he spoke,"Snuggles--"

That's it I can't hold it in--I was laughing, but I suddenly stopped seeing the teachers and students alike were both looking at me. 

"Um...Sorry."

"Anyway, Clark...."The teacher persuaded turning the attention back to the upset boy, Clark.

That's it, ignore Willard, he's just mad he didn't come up with the name Snuggles. I tried to hold it in once more, this was getting hard, tears in my eyes from just the effort to hold it in. 

Going on Clark told the class, a long horrible story about how his mother bought it for him when he wanted a cat (hence the name Snuggles). But his father was allergic to other carbon based life forms, so they brought it to school until his father went and got another series of shots to calm his allergies. But when Clark came back for Snuggles, he didn't find him. Only finding another white rat that resembled Snuggles, but was named Socrates. When he came to that part of the story the teacher asked about Socrates,"Who owns Socrates?"

"That...."I began but just held up my hand. 

Obviously, everyone wanted to know what I thought was so funny. The teacher definitely did so she began to ask,"Willard....is something...."

"Nope."I meekly replied, then added snickering,"I just forgot to buy myself some laundry detergent."

Silence. 

More Silence. 

"Oh. Alright."The teacher timidly went back to her seat, obviously to change all my grades to "F"s. Mom wouldn't ever know, the name of the report card would be "Willard"--("Who the hell is that?"). I might have to exchange cards with Clark whom was still upset with the whole rat-missing incident. 

I hate that name. 

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Authoritrix Notes: I hellofalot better, If I say so myself. oO Sorry. r/r please. I apoligize if your name is clark. I'm sorry, I didn't name you. J/K! oO 


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